


Wayward Moon

by StudioRat



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Banter, F/M, Hot Spring, bathtime, no smut here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:17:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StudioRat/pseuds/StudioRat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Great minds think alike, they say - though when two enemies think alike, a hot spring can get startlingly crowded...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Under Moonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888491) by [quietpastelcolours](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietpastelcolours/pseuds/quietpastelcolours). 



> Not my fault. It siezed hold of my brain after reading Quiet's shameless drabble and I couldn't help myself. 
> 
> 90% of this piece was written while on public transit, so I suppose acknowledgement and blame for the work and any typoese should be attributed to them as well.

Poets speak of moonbeams, sages of stars. The king and protector of the People slid through shadows dripping from ancient black pines, and spoke not at all.

Such quietude as the sibilant silence of the windless night held immeasurable value. Mortal concerns and the petty details of campaign and supply could await the dawn - tonight, he was done with politics and intrigues and winnowing the seeds of truth from the lies of his scouts. Not that they _meant_ to lie - not to him. A lesson he'd learned many long years ago, but one his opponent was thankfully still wrestling with.

Of course, a minor illusion or three increased the challenge for her discernment somewhat.

He hesitated at the ragged border of forest and spring, one shadow among many. Nothing moved but the languid mists rising from the surface of the water filling this broken chalice of a miniature valley.

Once, long ago, this place had been just another secret cave embroidering the hem of the mountains. No map recorded it - the climb to reach its sanctuary would hardly seem worth the effort when springs more inviting than this adorned the whole of Eldin like gems on a merchant's wife.

Yet.  
In its sharp-edged beauty and the challenge of reaching its solitude, it was perfect.

\- o - O - o -

The enveloping mists swallowed the clatter of falling scree, draping its dragging weight over everything it touched. She pressed herself close to the jagged rock, absorbing the sting of the slide and sudden stop, gathering her strength to resume the climb.

There were easier paths, or at least less treacherous ones, tangled goat trails and even rough-carved terraces around the larger springs. Near the trade roads, the Goron made even more of an effort accommodate their human neighbors in their subtle arts of shaping rock and wildland - and the results were often beautiful. Travelers came from all over the world to experience the sacred springs and peaks of Eldin.

And yet, the very raw indifference of these secluded, forgotten places soothed her spirit in a way artfully improved landscapes never did.

She reached for a fresh handhold, more careful this time. Shale, deceptively dry under her raw fingers. Her thighs burned with the strain of holding steady to reach farther, but she welcomed it.

This pain, she owned.

She pulled herself onto a narrow ledge, resting for the final push. Two choices - a longer route around the broken, rootbound slope, or scrambling directly over it and risking another fall. Her advisors would scream if they could see her now - they meant well, most of them. But they didn't understand.

Even Impa, dear as she had been in every other way, counseled her to be satisfied in the life she was born to. To be content to carry the expectation and pageantry of her rank, to walk in contemplation and purity between the world of spirits and mortals, belonging to neither. To train her body only for the sake of her spirit, never for herself, and only under the mask of Sheik, solitary and set apart even more than the Princess 'he' guarded.

The rocks cared for her title not at all, made no demands for maidenly reserve, nor judgment for unmanly sensibilities. When a root gave way under her weight, no voices in the desolate forest cried ill omen for Hyrule. The soothing waters of the spring ahead would find her no less pure for the grit and grime she collected from the land in exchange for the blood and sweat of her efforts.

\- o - O - o -

The pleasant night and the heat of the spring wrapped him in somnolent comfort. He lingered in its embrace long after the water carried away the grime of too many days on the road and too many nights sleeping in armor. As the heavens danced towards midnight, he hauled himself onto a slate boulder in a shadowed part of the spring, spreading his unbound hair over the worn, heartsblood-hot surface to dry.

He didn't realize he'd drifted into slumber until he woke with his heart drumming a painful tattoo on his ribs. He stilled his breath, listening closely for the disturbance.

Nothing.  
He scrubbed his eyes with the back of one hand, trying to regain his peace. Really, allowing himself to fall asleep in hostile territory without a ward raised - and worse, to then be startled by a simple forest creature.

Splash.

A distinctly feminine moan of sensual pleasure.

More bright splashing.

Fully awake now, he rolled onto his stomach, pressing close to the rock and whispering a hasty cantrip to thicken the mists around him. She was somewhere to the east - but that didn't make sense. That way lay the most treacherous approach - so she must have come from the  
south, and swam past him to bathe in the bubbling shallows. So. Troubling that she slipped past him - but she couldn't have noticed him yet, either.

That would change if he tried to leave the rock. Either she would hear him enter the water, or she would see his magic rip open a road through the ether. The latter was out of the question - the last thing he needed was to alert the whole Hylian army he wasn't within twenty leagues of where he was supposed to be, and all because he couldn't sneak past a maiden.

Nabooru would box his ears for such clumsiness, if she ever heard of it.  
Not that he was afraid of _her_ either.  
It was the principle of the matter.

He rocked back on his haunches, confident the mist rising from the hot spring would veil him. He strained ears and eyes to track the woman. He could wait for her to leave - she wouldn't risk swimming where she couldn't see. The sound stopped - maybe she was done with her bath. Leaving. Out of the water, drying her fragile limbs and climbing back into her highlands peasant clothing -

The water boiled up very nearly under his nose, and he reacted without thought. He pounced, wrapping his arms around the woman as she erupted from the surface, driving her back under. He was almost certain she'd fainted from the shock, until he twisted to bring them both back to the surface. She drove her knee into his stomach, costing him wind he could ill afford, and her other foot shoved painfully against his hip.

That quickly, she escaped, writhing out of his grasp. They broke to the surface within heartbeats of each other - but now he stood between her and the shore, well braced as it was possible to be on a submerged boulder. She backed away from him, spitting water and clawing loose hair out her eyes. He considered summoning a lance, but that might provoke her panic further.

“How dare you-!” she said, before he’d fully decided. He knew her at once - no one else could issue rebuke and still sound like honey and gold.  
“More correctly,” he said, easing towards her as much as the rock permitted. “How dare _you_ , princess? You intruded on _my_ solitude.”  
“ _I?_ ”  
He folded his arms, amused to see her - for once - discomfited. “As you can see, I've been in these waters for some time.”  
“Pfah,” she said, spitting like a vulgar market woman. It was strangely charming. “You could have magicked yourself to that rock.”  
“Naked?” He kept his tone light, watching to see if her eyes dropped. The steaming waters rose above his navel, even with the rock supporting him, and where the steam didn't veil the surface, moonlight did.

She looked anyway.

A tiny movement - disguised as blinking away water as she shook her wet hair back, but the set of her ears betrayed her embarrassment. Not, obviously, at what she had seen, but rather that she had _tried_ to see it.

She scowled, but her rich alto remained achingly sweet. “I won't pretend to understand your filthy mind.”  
“Pity,” he said.  
She blinked, and her voice rose in disbelief. “You're _enjoying_ this.”  
“Immensely,” he said.  
“I could scream,” she said.  
He tipped his chin up a little so the light would let her see his raised brow - and his golden eyes fixed firmly on her face. He didn't need to look. He already knew. “Naked?”  
She snorted in contempt - a small, almost catlike sound suited to her delicate features. “Dignity is a small price to pay for your defeat.”  
He clicked his tongue in censure, shaking his head. “I would have thought you'd sell your honor more dearly, Princess.”  
“You have no right to even _speak_ of my honor, thief.” She rose with the vigor of her spite, sweeping her arms in a cutting gesture hindered not at all by the water. She had no friendly rock beneath her, but the effort of staying afloat hardly seemed to touch her.

And she hadn't tried to circle around him.

Interesting.

“Indeed,” he said. “I spoke too soon, as you have yet to scream. Or - do you  
not have any guards to hear you?”  
“You'd prefer that wouldn't you?” She bared her white teeth to underline the venom - but it was still a honeyed poison. “I'm merely giving you the opportunity to surrender.”  
“Never,” he said, quietly. “Are you really challenging me, Princess? _Now?_ ”  
“I know you're behind all of this,” she growled. “The monsters, the drought, the tremors, the miasma -”  
“Don't believe everything you read,” he said, too tired to argue the point. He needed to get back to camp and attempt to sleep. He should have done so long ago - but the chance of washing his hair from root to tip - letting the water take his weight for a few sweet hours - yes, even the nap, in the blissful quiet of these mountainous wildlands-  
“I won't hear your lies,” she said at last. “Why are you even here?”  
“I thought you weren't interested in my lies?” He looked away, distantly wondering if she’d use his apparent distraction to escape or attack. “I came here to bathe, of  
course. The Eldin springs are somewhat famous for their healing virtues, I understand.”  
“To which you have no right,” she said.  
“Finders keepers,” he shot back. “And I do believe you're stalling.”  
“I am _not_. This land - and everything in it - belongs to Hyrule. You can't claim a place just because you're standing on it,” she said, a note of disbelief creeping into her voice.  
“Only following your excellent example,” he said, indulging her with a wicked grin.  
“That's it,” she said, jabbing the air between them with her hand. “Your blood is _mine,_ demon thief.”  
“A duel is it? Fine. I accept,” he said, stalling her with a raised hand. “My choice of weapons.”  
Her laughter proved to be as bright as the rest of her. “As if.”

But.  
She did not strike out for shore.

He clicked his tongue in censure, amused in spite of himself. Pity it would be over as soon as he called his trident to hand. “Do you hear that, Princess? Your honor is dying in agony.”  
She frowned. “How can I possibly trust you won't cheat? Summon minions from the shadows?”  
“Such insults from _the honorable one_ ,” he said. “If you lack the strength and courage to face me, you may of course forfeit the match - and your throne.”  
Her mouth dropped open in raw shock. _That_ hurt as much as any of her more obvious insults. “You would let me leave?”  
He shrugged. “We'll meet again.”  
“I don't trust you,” she said.  
“So you've made abundantly clear. What remains to be determined is the manner of my victory.”  
“Pft. More like the manner of your _defeat,_ ” she snapped. “Get down from that rock, fetch your _damn_ sword and we end this farce - _and_ this war.”  
“Hn. You forget, Princess,” he said, amused by her fierce determination in spite of everything. “The challenger does not choose the weapon.”  
“Fine,” she snarled. “If you're too afraid to go without your magic, you may of course forfeit the match - and leave my country, never to return.”  
“Hn. Likewise,” he said.  
“It's not your country yet,” she shot back.  
“Hn. True,” he said, seized with a sudden surge of mischief - a brilliant idea, the stuff of wayward midnight dreams. “Come here.”  
She frowned. “Why?”  
“So I can kiss you,” he said, savoring the words as they rolled from his tongue.  
Her voice rose in shock - but though she sank lower in the water she did not flee. “What? Are you mad?”  
“No,” he said, unfolding his arms to beckon her closer. She drifted a few hands closer, then stopped herself. Interesting. “I'm choosing my weapon.”  
“Kissing?” She sounded genuinely baffled.  
“Adorable, but not quite accurate,” he said, laughing a little under his breath. Perhaps he was a little mad, bewitched by the waters and the moon-pale treasure they held. “Sex, Princess.”  
“You - what?” She dipped to her chin, sputtering in shock. “You fiend! You force yourself on my country, and now upon  
me- how can you-”  
He cut her off, trying to unhear her accusation. “Easily. You are reasonably attractive, and despite your vicious tongue  
I am - shall we say - intrigued.”  
“Oh-” she began, her features broadcasting her horror and fear. Not exactly what he’d hoped for. “You horrible, shameless creature! There is nothing at all honorable about - about -”  
“No? Nothing honorable about seizing the opportunity to invite you to save our people the expense and bloodshed of prolonging this campaign? Offering you an alternative to a fatal contest which you have no hope  
of winning?” He jabbed at the air between them, taking a bitter satisfaction when she flinched. “Very well. Go, run back to your army, and never speak of this.”

They regarded each other in silence, the alluring moonlight turning cold.  
“You - just like that? You'll let me leave?”  
He nodded, once.  
“No - you're just toying with me - this is all a trick - to ambush after I turn, and take-”  
He cut her off. “Be careful, Princess. The next time we meet will be on the field of  
battle, and I _will_ remember your insults.”

Another silence, heavy and ominous.

But she did not leave.

She drifted closer.

Even with the water slowing him, if he leapt forward, he could catch her again. She had to realize this. This time, he wouldn't be expecting a fragile peasant, wouldn't be surprised when she lashed out.

This time he would lock his arms around her and he would not be distracted by the curve of her flesh fitting against his.

“...this is absurd,” she said at last. Something in her golden voice that he couldn't quite identify stirred a shiver at the base of his spine. A good kind of shiver, owing nothing whatever to cold. “What possible measure of victory could you be imagining with such a 'weapon'?”

He closed his eyes for a moment - a heartbeat only - maybe two. With great effort he set aside the bitterness, to draw upon another day, when fatigue caught him in the field, perhaps. He beckoned the imp of mischief, willing it to mask anything more dangerous from her view, and fixed her again with his gaze.

She licked her lips, waiting, nervous.

“Anything you can do, I can do _better_.”


	2. Bonus: Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the bath. And other minor details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A. Fletcher deserves at least 30% of the blame for this part. Their mischief truly knows no limits, and they delight in poking the muse when they really shouldn't.

“You're beautiful when you beg,” he purred, nuzzling her ear.  
“And you're an insufferable peacock,” she returned, pleased that her voice was steady again.  
He grinned - she could feel him grinning, that toothy, wolfish, smug smile that said _I know such secrets as you will never grasp._ “Is that surrender?”  
“No.”  
“Hn. Such promises,” he said, caressing her with his incomparable stormcloud voice.  
“Threat,” she said. “The word you're looking for is threat.”  
He lifted water in the cup of one broad hand, letting it spill through his fingers to run over her shoulder where it rose above the surface. “I doubt even a mouse would find you a threat just now.”  
“I'm resting,” she said, and he rumbled some faint thing that was neither assent nor dispute. It was only truth - if indeed she had any strength left, she would have been sorely tempted to turn, to fit their skin together again, to listen to his heart drum under her.

Fortunate, then, that she did not. Blasphemy could be atoned for - treason, never. He could not be allowed to guess that she ached, much less the nature of that ache. That she found her rebellious heart wishing circumstance to the nether hells, desperate to know what lurked behind those uncanny golden eyes.

She let the water hold her weight instead, and considered how lovely it would be to nap.

“How long,” he said, shifting his grip on her shoulder to prevent the circling current from pulling her away. “When will your guard come looking for you?”  
Damn. “Good point. We should go - somewhere else.”

A pause.

“Such as?”  
“Not here,” she said, trying to force her reluctant mind to resume disciplined activities.  
“You're not moving,” he said, without inflection.  
“I will in a moment,” she said.  
“I could carry you,” he said, pragmatic at first, then shading towards arrogance. “Of course, that would suggest-”  
She cut him off. “Absolutely not.”  
“As you wish,” he said with a shrug. “Your court will be scandalized, you know.”  
“At least they have the capacity,” she shot back.  
“Hn,” he said. She was beginning to be suspicious of that sound. Deceptively gruff, yet somehow charming. It defied all reason. _He_ defied reason.  
She huffed at him in return, but couldn't quite convince herself to put forth the effort to be upright again.  
“Fascinating as it is to discover you thrill to the thought of audience to your charming, yet vain efforts to surpass my magnificence - why are you laughing? Stop it. You will capsize, and then I shall be obliged to rescue you.”

His petulant air of affronted gallantry only amused her further. A caricature of half her overbred, cossetted suitors, if only he knew. _He_ wore his arrogance and self-concern like a deliberately tacky suit. With a smirk, and a dare to all the world to challenge his right.

“No, go on,” she said between shallow breaths, fluttering her hand at him. “You build your own cage with every boast, demon thief. I will own you anon, make no mistake.”  
“Hn. Unlikely,” he said, catching her hand and carrying it to his wide lips. “Yet I'm curious what use you have in mind for a pet demon, as you are so fond of calling me.”  
“You would be, you unrepentant lech,” she said, struggling to hold her voice steady given the decidedly unchaste kisses he laid on her knuckles - or rather, between them.  
“Indeed,” he rumbled against her hand, turning it over to drop a kiss in the cup of her palm. “But luckily for you, not curious enough to throw the match.”  
“Pft. Lucky for _me_?” She tried to reclaim her hand. He didn't have to exert any pressure to stop her - his massive hand closed and locked around her wrist, firm as any shackle though his touch _felt_ light.  
“Admit it, Princess,” he said. “You enjoy my mastery of the sensual arts.”  
“Even if I did,” she said, endeavoring to convince him her flippant attitude was all. “I'm still better than you, demon thief.”  
“Hn,” he said, and she tried to muster hate for the sound. “Perhaps, if you make a passable attempt, I will consider permitting you to beg for me again.”  
“I won't hear your half-baked lies,” she said. “I know you're just trying - vainly! - to delay admitting defeat so you can trick me into fulfilling your depraved desire for pleasures you don't deserve.”  
“Even if I were to resort to charlatan’s tricks, I'm _still_ better than you. In fact, I'm surprised they didn't hear your song halfway to Ordon,” he said.

Something in his voice seemed to soften the arrogant boast - pride mixed with satisfaction, of course, but something else she couldn't quite name. He seemed genuinely pleased to have given pleasure, and that alone made her core tighten and tremble again. She told herself he was only pleased because he thought he was winning. Magnanimous in his imagined victory. Gloating over his kingdom and conquest.

She wasn't convinced yet.

Crown princess?  
Crown traitor, laying down willingly with the enemy - sympathizing with him even-!

“Or - perhaps they did,” he said, as if the thought only just occurred to him, as if he were truly curious and not merely fiendish. “Are even your guard too busy slaking their ensuing lust to wonder after your admittedly enviable fate as my captive?”  
“Your delusions only render my inevitable victory all the sweeter,” she said.  
“Hn. You do realize you haven't moved except to tremble,” he said, guiding her hand back to rest on her stomach and tracing a feather-light, ticklish line up her center.  
“I'm resting,” she said.  
“So you said. I suggest you surrender before you do yourself a harm attempting the impossible, Princess.”  
“Never,” she said, kissing the broad fingertip wandering the curve of her lips. “I’ll have to arrest you after, you know.”

Silence.

“A logistical and political necessity,” she explained. “Without you, the rebellion will collapse by summer, freeing my soldiers to return to their farms and still have a tolerable harvest. A pity I won't be able to visit the Tower - I'm sure you understand. I’ll see to it you have plenty of books at least.”  
“No,” he said, withdrawing his hands - but slowly, as though he were capable of regret.  
“I can't just let you escape,” she said with a sigh, twisting herself upright at last. “I have no illusions you'll abide the terms of the duel and withdraw your armies willingly.”  
“You haven't won yet,” he said flatly.  
“Neither have you,” she returned, lifting her chin with pride. She was hardly in the proper mood now, but surrender was impossible.  
He studied her a moment, caught in the act of turning away, one hand resting on the flat rock they'd been resting against, his expression unreadable. “Forget it,” he said.

He gave her his back and hauled himself out of the water with a grunt. He was not a strong swimmer, but this he could manage with only the strength of his arms. She watched him do it - impressed in spite of herself how easily he spent the extra effort to make up for a weaker skill. She told herself she didn't care how his muscles tensed, how the moonlight spilled over his sculpted back, how impossibly perfect was her view of his shapely ass.

“Is that surrender,” she teased.  
“No,” he said, twisting to sit on the edge of the worn boulder. “I release you from your wicked vow - but do not expect me to grant such mercy on the field.”  
She stared, completely at a loss for words. He ignored her, combing back his long fiery hair with his fingers and twisting it into a thick rope. Deft as any matron, he coiled the heavy mass neatly at the back of his head and plucked long hairpins from the ether to fix it in place. He could have summoned real weapons at any time - of course he could, he was a master of the dark arts, the lance of the insurrection.  
“Go on,” he said, not even bothering to look at her. “Forget the whole affair. Save your strength for your upcoming evacuation and retreat from Kakariko gorge.”  
She fought to frame an acceptably noncommittal reply. “Kakariko is thirty leagues from any of your known encampments. You're not going to be there at all, are you?”  
“If you prefer a massacre to withdrawal, that can be arranged,” he said with practiced indifference.  
She weighed his non-answer, reexamining her understanding of the man. “Why do you march?”  
He turned his sharp eyes back to her, expression veiled. “Thought you didn't want to hear my lies.”  
“What I want is to end the war,” she said. “Do you truly want another seven years of bloodshed and famine? You lead my scouts a merry chase, you seed unspeakable rumors, you steal anything that isn't behind a star fort and three battalions, and at the first opportunity of a private conversation you-”  
“Refused to indulge your foolish challenge in the spirit you offered it,” he cut in. “Indeed, I am exactly as wicked as your reports paint me.”  
“That's not what I said.”  
He tucked his chin on his fist, leaning over to examine her more closely. The ghost of amusement pulled at the corners of wide lips and kohl-stained eyes. “You don't want me leaving.”  
She drew a breath, measuring the paths laid out before her. Long and exhausting, veering wide of her goal and maybe never reaching it. Dangerous, with uncertain footing, but direct. “We have unfinished business, demon thief.”  
He offered his other hand, palm up. “Surrender?”  
She swam close enough to lay her hand in his, surprised to discover his pulse raced as fearsomely as her own. “I have a better idea.”  
“I listen, Princess.”  
“I was thinking,” she said. “I like the sound of Queen.”  
“Hn. End the war, you said.” His thumb wandered the back of her hand, strangely gentle.  
“Discuss details next we meet,” she said. “There's a cave. Above the Avosgart ruins.”  
“Hn,” he said. “Wrong direction.”  
She matched his arch look. “Is it? Perhaps you need new scouts."

\- o - O - o -

**_Fin._ **  



End file.
